Frost
by Snowyflakes
Summary: A collection of winter one-shots. "Reborn" - She has to blink it back, the red, red, red, so all that will remain now and forever is the pure white, white, white.
1. Escape Artist

Escape Artist

Frost. It was always the first sign of what was to come. She stood by the window, looking out onto the frozen landscape. At first, she believed that she was looking at the first snow of the season, but it was nothing more than a visit from the frost fairies. This was a good sign.

She was beginning to think that she might not be able to slip out today. To leave in snow or with the frost still on the ground would mean that she would for sure be seen. They would see her petite tracks on the grounds. She leaned in. Her fingers curled on the icy window, and her nose smashed against the glass. Her breath sent out puffs of white fog across the smooth surface as her eyes darted about, trying to figure out her escape route. She might just have to wait until later in the morning, but then there would be more people up and about. It was a catch-22.

She cursed quietly against the window. Her nostrils flared.

Hunting was a possibility. She'd been needing to take out her hardy hunter for a good ride, but then, she supposed, they'd know exactly what to look for. No, she'd have to do this on her own. It was as her father always chided to her, there are no excuses. She wanted out, and there was never an excuse for her escape habits. What was the use of making one?

She gathered up the rich fabric of her skirts before darting down the hallway. If she's quiet, maybe no one will hear. No one will notice. Her feet slid across the cold stone, her silk slippers holding no traction. Yes, she'll just go for it, she decided. What was there to lose?

The doors to her chambers were practically thrown open, and she vaulted herself inside. She felt the giddiness seeping in as she tossed her trunk open. After digging through her clothing, she had her most simple outfit pulled out. This should do. This should do well. All she has to do is cover it with a good cloak, and she'll fit right in. Wiggling out of her old dress, her shoes get tossed aside. She did the best she could with putting on the new dress by herself. The sleeves were haphazardly tied, but it was the best she could hope for. Besides, the cloak will cover her. With her legs clad in woolen stockings, she grabbed a pair of worn boots to wriggle onto her feet.

Like a ghost, she whirled out of her rooms and into the main hall. It was good that she knew the castle like the back of her hand; she could easily take the servants' routes and steal one of their simple cloaks. Her lithe figure slipped into the servants' staircase and down she went. One step. Two step. Three step. When she reached the end, a hesitant hand braced itself against the doorway as she peeked out. There wasn't a soul in sight. Grinning to herself now – she was so close! – she spun through the doorway.

Her feet pounded the stone underneath as she rushed through the corridor. The mudroom! If she could move a little faster…

The bucket clopped against the stone, the water sloshing everywhere.

Bolting back from the collision, she stumbled on her feet. She landed roughly on her behind as the blond boy cursed his luck. In a flash, he had the bucket swiped up and his hand out to her. Her apologies to him were frantically mumbled as she took his hand. His smile was crooked and his cobalt eyes glinted with good humor as he looked down on her.

The heat flushed her face.

She'd seen him before. Her last few attempts to escape seemed to have all been intercepted in one way or another by the young lad, although never so directly, and usually their encounters went well in that he never attempted to put a damper on her. He laughed when he saw her slip in a puddle in the rain and slide right into the mud. She saw the way he smirked whenever she tried to sneak a snack from the kitchens. The boy had hawk eyes, that was for sure. But he never said a word. Instead, he pointed her in another direction, just before a patrol group went by in the gardens. He dropped a piece of bread on the floor and then tossed it towards her when the baker yelled at him for his clumsiness.

She began to babble.

His laughter rang through the corridor, and his hand pulled away to scratch the back of his neck.

She clapped her hands together to beg him, but he only shook his head.

His hand shot out, taking her wrist in his grip. The bucket swung this way and that on his arm as he stuck his other hand into the pocket of his tunic briefly. Her fingers rolled back onto a slim object, and when she opened them again, there rested a horseshoe shaped whistle.

The boy turned away and was halfway back down the corridor he came from to fetch more water when she called out to him. Her voice cracked as she tried to address her concerns. She fumbled over her words until her voice completely fizzled out, the whistle clutched in both hands.

But he only smiled and said, "I'm sorry. I don't recall ever meeting the Princess Zelda, but I hear that maybe she needs to watch where she's running."


	2. The Favorite

The Favorite

He is her favorite by far. Being the favorite has its benefits. He has a title now, a name that which he call his own, and with the title comes land. With land comes a place that he can call home, a place he can take sanctuary in should she ever allow him to leave. He has a new warhorse, and despite the horse's ill temper, he feels a certain fondness for the rustic mare. He's given gifts of gold, a new sword. Should he feel that he is ever without, being the favorite has the advantage; she would be willing to fill whatever it is he desires.

A testament to his influence is when he walks the corridors, nobles of houses blessed with more lands, more money will bow to him. He is treated with a respect that he's long thought to be unheard of. He could call in favor from them if he so wanted, all he has to do is share a little of the influence that he has. It's all within his power. And all he has to do is keep her happy.

So the favorite he is, and the favorite he shall stay.

"You're taking Epona?" she asks, adjusting her riding hood. Her cheeks are already rosy from the winter's icy fingers. The warhorse snorts a little, and he pats her neck with affection. Her lips curl into a smile. "I was worried when Impa brought her to me that she'd be too much, but she seems to take a liking to you."

"She's a good one, deep down," he says.

She chuckles softly, and turns her mount. "Lead the way?" she prods. He moves first, but it's not long before she rides beside him, the rest of the hunting party trailing along behind them. The group moves with caution through the woods, eyes searching for anything that might make a move. He shoots a couple of rabbits and nails a pheasant, and others are able nab some small game, but nothing big makes its way into their path.

A light snow had fallen the night before, allowing the small party a chance to track. Slim footprints of venison appear here and there, and they follow the trails, but nothing comes to fruition, and eventually the tracks become muddled with the markings of their feet and horses' hooves.

In his rapid rise in power and position, he's often left feeling a little dizzy. The newfound freedoms that come with knowing he has her on his side offers a certain security, however there are plenty that would kill to take his place. There is always another family out to push their sons and daughters for a chance to be in his place, to gain favor. He sees the way their brows crinkle during mass as they pray fervently to Din, but he just shrugs them off as he sits by her side, hands clasped as the cleric leads them in their prayers.

It's not always glamorous being the court favorite though. He can never slip up, not even once. If he messes up in the slightest, it could allow just enough for someone else to gain some footing and knock him down. While his adoration and loyalty for her a true through and through, he must turn his head and smile at the noble seeking to push him out of the way. He lies through his teeth in strategic games to take out those that pose new threats, but he hates that feeling most of all. He hates the way he's forced to look over his shoulder.

Today is no exception. He just has to watch his back in the literal as well as the figurative sense. Chancellor Cole rides toward the back of the party, and he can't help but feel the prickling of his skin, as if Cole is back there, just lying in wait. The man has long held a special distain for him, and as much as he has tried to ignore Cole, the chancellor is ambitious. He's heard the chancellor try to tarnish his name before, and each time he's sucked in a breath only to sigh when she discounts the chancellor. So far he has been safe; she keeps him safe, but he wonders for how long as Cole drills holes in his back. He shivers a little.

"Are you cold?" she inquires.

He shakes his head. "No, milady," he replies. "Just caught a chill but for a moment."

Her pale skin has pinked considerably by this point. Her nose has reddened, and he worries a little that it'll end up the same deep shade of her cloak. She looks back on the hunting party who sit, chewing on dried meat brought to sustain them until they could sup. "I think it's time we turn back though," she says.

There's something in the distance.

"Wait," he hisses.

Her head whirls in the same direction, the blonde curls that escaped her hood flying about her face.

"Keep low," she mutters to him as he leaves his horse and lady.

The buck has its nose to the ground, large antlers springing from its head. The snow crunches under his feet, but he keeps his steps light. He maneuvers over branches lying in his path and readies his bow. He knocks an arrow as he gets within range, the buck looks up. Its ears twitch a little as it takes him in, and it raises its head as if to inquire something of him. He braces his feet on the firmament and pulls back on the bow.

The bow cringes a little under the new pressure, and his muscles twitch under new strain. He aims for a kill shot, the buck still trying to anticipate his movements – is he a threat or is he safe?

The arrow flies.

The snow is splattered ruby and her cry of "LINK!" streaks through the woods. He is neither threat nor safe.

The buck is dead, but so is he. Numb, his fingers touch the arrow stuck in his side. Slick and sticky with his life force, the blood glitters on his fingers. Feet rush toward him, the lightest pair he knows belong to her. She rolls him on his side, still screaming, but this time not to him, but for him. Pain rackets through his body as she attempts to pull the arrow out, demanding who in the party is responsible.

There is no question in his mind as he see the glint in Cole's eyes, but this but one of the risks of the favorite.

* * *

So I got the inspiration to write more winter based one-shots; I would expect to update this again, but with another unrelated short. I haven't really touched my actual stories in a little while though, and I'm sorry for that guys. Once I actually update one, I'll give you guys the news on what's been going on.


	3. The Fall

The Fall

He sits at the edge of the field. The stone underneath him is cold, but he does not move. The hole in his chest deepens at this time of the day. When he closes his eyes, he can see Rusl and himself sitting on the bank of Ordon Spring, a memory from so long ago. "Do you feel it?" Rusl asked him. "There's a certain sadness that creeps in when twilight comes. They say this is the one time of day when we are closer to them." He never thought that he felt it before, but now he does. Time has passed slowly, and each day when night begins to fall, the void in his chest grows a little more.

Stars stubbornly try to poke out in the last of the day's light, and the hero wonders if the Twili ever feel this way.

There's a part of him that still laments the loss of his companion. When that mirror shattered, their parting was final. There's another part of him that laments the loss of freedom that he'd begun to feel on his journey with Midna. There's a growling urge in his stomach on nights like this. He feels the wanting pulsing through his veins. If Midna was here, with a few words he could be off, storming through the fields, the crisp, biting wind of winter stirring his fur and his soul. He can even her the strangle cry she would let out if he bolted when she wasn't expecting it. Another pang works its way through his heart.

The winter now just seems harsh, like there's nothing left. The cloak he wears holds a little warmth, but it does not ward off all of the winter's wrath. His fingers are numb from the cold, his nose is running, and he sniffles a little. The pulse of the hot blooded beast stirs a little more in his breast. He wiggles his frozen toes inside his boots, waiting for twilight to pass. His breaths gush forth in fluffy white clouds as he wrings his hands, trying to get the feeling back in them.

The lush fields have all receded. Once a vibrant green, the fields have lost all color with the season. The trees have all shed their leaves, empty branches scratching at the darkening pink sky with nimble fingers. The winter has taken all the life from the landscape; it has sucked everything dry from the dormant trees to frozen firmament. And he here he sits all alone as winter curls itself around him.

Of course he can't see that far out, but he faces the west all the same as he tries to fight down the beastly urge to surge through the fields to the desert beyond. The weathered warrior closes his eyes. That time has long since passed, he must remind himself, but this is the least he can do. When twilight comes, and the heaviness in his heart weighs a little more, he feels closer to his long lost companion. He feels closer to the wolf inside. The wolf wants to roam free, but the human side ties them both down. It is days like these where the winter's cruel tricks stir the beast that make him war inside. He reminds himself that the wolf is from a time long passed.

He waits in the desolate landscape, watching as indigo ink spreads its way through the paper sky. He rubs the tips of his long ears as the last sign of sunlight begins to fade behind the distant snowcapped mountains. The night has settled in, and any warmth that sun might have given is gone. The night is cold, but he stays.

When dainty footsteps make their way towards him across the frosty field, he still does not stir from where he sits facing the west. A thick woolen blanket is draped across his shoulders. "I thought you might have gotten cold," she says. She draws her skirts in and sits down next to him. They sit in silence for a spell until he feels her shiver a little. He shakes out one side of the blanket and offers it to her. "Thank you," says the royal. She scoots herself closer, huddling up next to him and curls a little in the new heat.

"Do you think…" he starts, but then never finishes.

She shifts some, wrinkling her cold nose. "I think so," she whispers.

She stays with him for some time pointing out significant stars and constellations, telling him some of the stories entwined with them. The queen goes on about the stars while his eyes stray back down to the horizon in the distance. When he looks over at the queen, her gaze is set in a dreamy state as she tells him about the star of her patron, Nayru's Love, and his lonesome heart swells a little more.

Suddenly, the winter doesn't seem so cruel.


	4. Reborn

Reborn

She giggles a little as she watches him. His face is a mixture of wonder and fear at the unknown substance falling outside. "Zelda!" he hisses, his eyes wide as he turns away from the window to her. "Do you see this?"

She laughs again. "Yes, I do, Link." Of course, she has to remind herself, he's never seen such a thing before. It's all completely new, completely foreign to him. Just like how he didn't know what to do when the trees turned ruby and gold. The changing of seasons was something he'd never experienced above the cloudes. She steps up behind him as he turns back to look out into the snow covered forest. Placing her hands on his shoulders, Zelda tells him, "It's called 'snow', Link."

"Snow?" he repeats, testing the new word on his tongue.

"Snow. You know how when it gets cold enough, water turns to ice?" she asks him, and the seasoned warrior nods. "It's like that, only tiny, tiny pieces of ice."

"Is it always white?" he asks.

She opens her mouth. She wants to yes, yes it is, but in her mind's eye the memories flittering through her brain. The memories of another life, another time tell her that no, it's not always white. The ruby stains splattered across the white, white, white landscape. The war cries still ring in her ears. All that was pure is now just stained red, red, red-

"Zelda?"

And just like that it stops.

Link asks, "Are you alright?"

She smiles. "I'm fine, Link.

"Let's go outside," she says to him, taking hold of his arm and dragging him to the door. She quickly throws cloaks on them both before she flings the door open and darts out into the white wonder beyond. The snow is powdery and fluffs up with each bounding step Zelda takes. The trees are covered and so is their quaint cabin. The world is bright again, filled with something new than just the sleeping, naked trees.

Link lets out a small yelp behind her, and Zelda whips around. "What's wrong?" she calls out to him.

"It's cold!" he whines as he shakes out his hands.

The pearl of laughter escapes her, and she promises him that she's knit him some mitts to keep their fingers warm through the new season.

Link stoops and scoops up another handful, mindful this time. "What are you doing?" she asks him when he takes a large bite out of the snow.

"It doesn't taste like anything," he says.

He looks up at the grey, cloudy sky, and for a moment there's a pang in her chest as she wonders, is he looking up there for their island in the sky? But then his eyes dart one way then the other as he follows the path of a snowflake making its descent. He holds out his hand to catch a flakes and watches as it hits his palm and dissolves.

"Zelda?"

"Yes, Link?"

He looks back up at the world around them, powdered in the new white substance. "Is the next season as pretty as this?" he asks.

She has to blink it back. The memories say no, but when she looks out on the pure white, white, white before her, she has to disagree. "Something tells me no, Link." Zelda closes her eyes, trying to capture a snapshot in her mind of what she sees now.


End file.
